The Witch and the Fox Babies
by gypsy season
Summary: (WICKED) On a moonless eve, a witch was set free of past wrongdoings and misunderstandings. Although the story of any Witch has no ever after, it still must be resolved to be any kind of story at all.


Title: The Witch and the Fox Babies  
Rating: PG-13  
Fandom: Musical  
Summery: On a moonless eve, a witch was set free of past wrongdoings and misunderstandings. Although the story of any Witch has no ever after, it still must be resolved to be any kind of story at all.  
  
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PROLOGUE  
  
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In the story of the Witch and the fox babies, the foxes made the Witch fall asleep so they could escape. Upon their liberation, the moon covered the cave's entrance and everlastingly imprisoned the Witch inside. And there the wicked old Witch stayed for a good long time. But what of the eve when there was to be no moon, the reason the story ended where it did?  
  
On a cold autumn evening some time after the Witch's initial imprisonment, the moon relinquished it's duties. On that one night, the only moonless night, the Witch crept out of hiding to return to the world she had been locked away from for so long.  
  
Far from the Witch's realm in the sky, another Witch lay in captivity. On that same moonless evening, a second liberation occurred, setting a second Witch free of past wrongdoings and misunderstandings. For although the story of a Witch has no ever after, it still must be resolved to be any kind of story at all.

The tin man had asked for a heart, and he had given it to him. The lion had asked for courage, and he had given it to him. The little girl had asked to go home, and he had given it to her, but at the cost of his entire kingdom that he had dominated for decades. Glinda the Good had come up with the idea. Something was troubling her, something she would not say (but he had guessed it to be the death of the Wicked Witch), and so she had told him to leave.  
  
Of course, if anyone else had asked him to just leave without as much as a reason or something to offer in return, he would have refused. But despite her appearance, Glinda had put a great deal of thought into her words. She had seen him for what he truly was, and if he did not obey her then the rest of Oz would know as well. That simply would not do.  
  
His entire source of power was from his solidarity. He was mysterious, no one ever saw him for what he truly was; No one was allowed. The reason the citizens of Oz had to believe every word that passed his lips was because they could not see him for the fool he really was. All they saw was a massive head on a throne, shrouded in smoke and bright lights. He gave the people what they wanted, and so they did not seem to care that their leader was always hiding behind a bronze head.  
  
Although he had good ideas, no one had ever listened to him back home because he was meek, small of step and spent his entire life on the road. "What would you know of the world," they would say, "if you have yet to stop and see it for yourself?" Nobody wanted a leader; though they were all impoverished and unhealthy, they thought it best if they governed themselves.  
  
When he came to Oz, it was a mess, and he had cleaned up that mess just fine. So, many lives were lost, homes and crops destroyed, and enough suffering to last the rest of time, but Oz had righted itself in the end. Somehow, he had pulled everyone through into a perfect world. But still, Glinda wanted him gone, and if he ever let his real self out into the world, nothing would be right anymore.  
  
So he obeyed, and as his great green balloon rose up into the sky, a flock of angry Birds, having been stripped of every single right they ever had, rose from the trees and followed him into high altitude, where they pecked holes in the canvas and tore the strings. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz was reduced to a Wonderful explosion of a corpse, as well as the little girl and her little black dog.  
  
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The bottle of green elixir that had remained beneath Elphaba's pillow for years was now kept in Glinda's room. To preserve memories, she left it under her pillow as well. It lay buried beneath a thick mass of feathers, lace and pink cloth while Glinda sobbed above.  
  
She stayed in her room for days, once she had made her rounds of Oz delivering announcements of peace and relaxing tensions. Despite how she grieved, her responsibility, now that she had gotten rid of the Wizard, was to smile and fill everyone with joy and reassurance. It only made her heart ache worse.  
  
The green bottle was all that she had to remember her only real friend. She would have taken the hat too, but that would have been more obvious, and she left it as a sort of gravestone. Besides, what would people think if they saw her, Glinda the Good, with the Wicked Witch's hat?  
  
Of course Elphaba had not been Wicked; she had been antagonized. But she had been antagonized so severely that the level of her kindness and generosity made no difference anymore. If only her name could be cleared…  
  
Then what?! Everything went around in circles, all leading back to someone having to be the bad guy. Oz needed a villain, the Wizard was right. With even a false of a villain as Elphaba was, it helped Oz's citizens to better differentiate what was good and what was bad.  
  
Glinda banished these thoughts, for they grew too painful and confusing. Instead, she wondered how it felt, to be melted by a surge of water; she imagined it burned terribly, having a similar effect to fire. Elphaba was like a candle in reverse, thriving on fire and eradicated by water.  
  
Through bleary eyes, Glinda looked at the candle that was producing a sufficient glow on her bedside table. She reached forth a trembling hand, palm towards the candle, and moved it through the flame. She cried out from the shock of heated pain and clenched her other hand into a fist, but she did not pull back. She could feel her flesh hissing and sizzling as layers peeled away to reveal red, raw flesh beneath.  
  
She curled her knees up to her chest and cradled her wounded hand with her other, sobbing fresh tears. Now she knew how Elphie died, and imagined that immense pain spreading from one concentrated area throughout her entire body until she was nothing but a hat and a little green bottle.  
  
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The air beneath the floors of Kiamo Ko was moldy and thick with the stench of urine. She had lost consciousness more then once, and was constantly battling the urge to vomit, for that would push the odor even further past being simply unbearable.  
  
There was a vicious pain at the base of her spine, most likely from crouching in such a small space for so long. When she tried to switch positions, her head bumped against the top of her little area, so she stayed put and tried to think of something else.  
  
What else could she think of? Glinda, sobbing brokenheartedly where no one would hear her; Fiyero's broken, mangled corpse; Malice and revenge gleaming in the Wizard's eyes; Animals everywhere being treated worse than dirt, with every opportunity ripped away? No, she did not want to think of those things; they made her feel as the tin man must, with a hollow, empty space where her heart should be.  
  
Elphaba had never been able to sit still; she was always moving, always doing something. She felt trapped if she didn't. This was a change for her, and to ease her anxiety over being trapped, her mind ran free instead.  
  
She coughed and gagged once before closing her eyes, although it made no difference in such darkness, and prayed for sleep. But it would not come, that was painfully obvious. She was trapped in a little grave beneath the floor of an abandon fortress with nothing but her thoughts to torture her. She exhaled, ridding her lungs of all the breath they had, and did not breathe again until she lost consciousness.

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End of Prologue


End file.
